


show me in the worst light

by summerwoodsmoke



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Mortis (Star Wars), Non-Linear Narrative, Not Canon Compliant, Pseudo-Incest, doomed from the start, ish, nothing happens between them but they sure don't act like regular siblings, pseudo-siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwoodsmoke/pseuds/summerwoodsmoke
Summary: Being able to live on Mortis took something extra the girl had not been born with. She woke up on the planet after that first meeting with the Father, barely able to remember that there had been a before. All she could remember was her mother's loving hands, the distant embrace of the Force, and the Father's touch on her forehead. 
Each memory faded with time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by 1. [tanarill's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tanarill/pseuds/tanarill) comment that the mortis family do not appear to be biologically related and 2. the son's last line to the daughter
> 
> things to note: books are indeed star wars canon, but practically nothing else in this fic is. the mortis family has a canon backstory as well as a legends backstory but i threw both out the window for all my pseudo crap. please enjoy

“It’s ironic, my sister…” His fingers brushed her cheek.  “You were the only one I truly loved.”

For the first time in his life, she was cold, she did not glow, and there was no welcoming look in her eyes.

There was no look at all.

She was gone, because of him. Because of the dagger, because of that meddling Jedi, because of _the Father_ …

 Was his plan worth this? In his heart of hearts, he knew the answer was no. But he would make it worth it. For himself. For the galaxy.

 For her.

 

* * *

 

Once, a girl was born. A human girl, with vivid hazel eyes, dark brown hair, and the palest of skin. She grew up loved by her mother. She grew up ostracized by her peers. 

The Force wasn't a well-recognized power or religion in her part of the galaxy, and in fact, the girl didn't even know it existed until she was twelve. Most of the people she grew up with could sense something strange about her, though they were never sure what it was. And she always knew they found her strange, as she could sense them right back.  
  
The girl didn't have friends, really, but she had her mother, and that was enough. Her mother encouraged her to do well in school, so she could grow up to do anything she wanted. And so the girl applied herself diligently, for her mother, for herself, and for a future she might have.

She learned about the Force in school, in a class about different practiced religions from around the galaxy. Her teacher gave a cursory overview of what the Force was believed to be, and as she listened, she felt something straighten up inside of her, a piece of her called to attention when it had never been called to before. _The Force_. That's what this was. Her heart was pounding and she fought to keep from grinning too wildly.  
  
"It's a fairly outlandish belief system," her teacher said. "A small minority across various planets ascribe to the Force."  
  
Her stomach sunk at the words. Outlandish—bizarre, unbelievable. If she told anybody here that the Force was real, that it was a part of this world, and in her, they would _never_ believe in it then. And probably laugh her right out of town.  
  
The girl kept quiet, as she had with most things in her life. But it was easier now, knowing she was in some way, at least, not alone. The Force was always with her.

 

* * *

 

The girl’s mother died of sickness when she was fourteen. After the body was burned and her ashes scattered in each direction of the wind, the girl returned to her home alone. Her soul keened at the emptiness she was left in, and she felt the Force sing back in sad response.  
  
She gave herself three days, wrapped in the Force's cold comfort, then sent herself back to school again. Life continued, and so must she, especially if she ever wanted to leave this place.  
  
One week after she went back to school, she came home to find a man sitting in her common room, cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed. He didn't look quite human, but he didn't look like anything else either. Mostly, he just looked old, and unfamiliar, and out of place in her common room.

"Excuse me," she said. She'd meant to ask it, but she was breathless from a mixture of fear and anger. _Who are you_ , she asked silently. _Why are you here_.  
  
The man didn't move a muscle. "I am the Father," he said. "And I am here to bring you home."  
  
_This is my home_ , her brain said, while yet her heart was agreeing with the man, the Father.  
  
"Where is home?" the girl asked. The Father stood in one fluid motion that seemed too slow and too fast all at once. He stepped toward her and lifted a hand.  
  
"You will see," he answered, touching a finger to her forehead. The girl's world fell dark.

 

* * *

 

The Daughter and the Father lived alone for some time. It was peaceful, and good, and they maintained Mortis to the best of their abilities. Sometimes, to the Daughter, it seemed like something was missing. But whenever she asked, the Father never gave her a real answer.  
  
On a day that seemed no different from the rest, the Father stopped his meditating early. The Daughter stood up with him, confused.  
  
"He's ready," said the Father. "I must go and fetch him."  
  
"Who, Father? What do you mean?"  
  
"Your brother. It is time for him to come home."

 

* * *

 

Being able to live on Mortis, to _live Mortis_ , took something extra the girl had not been born with. She woke up on the planet after that first meeting, barely able to remember that there had been a before. All she could remember was her mother's loving hands, the distant embrace of the Force, and the Father's touch on her forehead. Each memory faded with time.  
  
Life on Mortis, in the beginning, was excruciating without her realizing it was excruciating. The Father meditated with her three times a day, at the sun's highest and lowest points, kneeling behind her with his hands on her shoulders. The Force felt closer than ever when he did that. Days passed in a way that was impossible to track: she wasn't sure if it had been a week or a month when she began to notice the changes. Her height comparative to the Father was changing—she was growing taller, and her hair was growing longer, as well as paling, losing its colour. And so it went on, for a numberless amount of days. It wasn't until the pain stopped that the Daughter realized there had been pain at all. She stopped growing, as did her hair, which was now flowing, green. Her skin glowed, day and night. Her voice echoed with power the way the Father’s did. She and the Father still meditated often together, but he stopped touching her when they did.  
  
The memories from before—the hands, the embrace, the touch—were forgotten, but the coming to be, and the after, never were.

 

* * *

 

The boy's arrival stirred something in the Daughter. He was Pau'an; his face—grooved with lines and red markings tracing down from his eyes—drew her eye almost constantly. He was tall, although not as tall as she and the Father. The three of them meditated together, at the sun's highest and lowest points each day, and the Father had her join him in resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. She suspected he wouldn't be shorter for much longer.  
  
When they weren't meditating, she wandered the western half of Mortis, the half designated to her by the Father long ago. Somehow, she had never wondered what the other half was for till now.  
  
The boy came with her, sometimes, following behind as she walked among her life forces of flora, strengthening and weakening and maintaining balance where she could.  
  
"How do you do it?" the boy asked once. His teeth, she noticed, did not seem quite so sharp anymore. "It's the Force, isn't it? I have the Force, but I don't think I could do what you do."  
  
"Of course it is the Force," she replied. "I _am_ the Force, or at least part of it. As is the Father." _As soon you will be_ , she added silently. "The difference between us is that I do not _have_ the Force. The Force and I are one."  
  
She put out a hand, adjusted a tree so as to let the brush and sapling beneath its branches have a chance. She gave the calf-high sapling a nudge of its own. Looking up, she caught the boy's black and red eyes with her own.

Nothing felt as close to her as the Force--nothing had ever come close, not even the Father. But the boy...it felt different with him. And she couldn’t figure out why.

 

* * *

 

What the girl didn’t remember was her arrival on Mortis. The journey there, and her first days. The Father took those memories, same as he did from the boy and the Daughter after the boy arrived. Some things aren't meant to be remembered.  
  
The creation of the Daughter and the Son was a slow excruciating process. The girl and boy's arrival to the Force planet was blinding, searing pain.  
  
The girl didn’t remember laying on the floor of the Father's monastery, vision blurry and screaming her throat raw. She didn’t remember her flailing limbs, or her senses dulled from the pain, until the only other thing she could feel was a hand on her face, an attempt at comfort that failed miserably, that made her think of her mother, oh, how she missed her mother, she wanted her mother, she—  
  
She remembered none of it when she awoke.   
  
Likewise, the Daughter did not remember that she was present for the boy's arrival. She had no memory of the Father Force-carrying a boy into his monastery, and setting his unconscious body on the ground.

“This is he?” the Daughter asked.

“It will be. Soon.” The Father kneeled at the boy’s side, lifting his hands over his body. “The Force is strong with him, very strong, as it was with you.”

The Daughter’s brow furrowed in slight confusion. She _was_ the Force; she wasn’t sure what the Father meant, although...she looked down at the boy’s slight body, sensed his mortal heart and fragile veins, and remembered a pounding heart in her own chest, a nervous energy swelling in her tiny body at _school_ , she remembered, she had attended a school once.

The boy twitched. The Daughter’s memory drifted away, although the heartbeat was still close in her mind. The Father’s eyes were closed now, his hands drifting around the air above the boy’s body. The boy twitched again. His face, which fascinated her, grey and red and lined, began to wince in pain.

“Father, what is happening to him?”

“I am making him ready. This will pass, Daughter.” The boy yelped, his entire body flinching. The Father did not stop. She could still hear that heartbeat, could feel it getting faster. The Daughter was frozen, standing in place watching as the boy dissolved into shudders. When he screamed, it broke whatever trance was on her.

She raced forward, kneeling on his other side, leaning forward to rest a hand on his arm, to do _something_ , anything.

“Daughter, **_stop_**!” The Father’s many-toned voice had her hand jolt still. “You must not touch him.” She inhaled, winced at the boy’s pain, but stayed her hand. Whether it was her choice or not she was unsure. The boy screamed again, his black eyes open but unseeing, and the scream ended as a choking sob.

“Stop this! Father, you must stop!” Her own voice was increasing to a yell to be heard over the boy’s pain. Her head was pounding. “Father, _please_!”

Her hands ached to reach out, to provide whatever comfort she could. She knew she mustn’t, she knew in her mind the Father was doing right, but it didn’t _feel_ right. It was agony; the heartbeat grew faster, her head pounded a tattoo in her ears. She felt close to tears, but that couldn’t be right. She didn’t cry, didn’t think she could.

The Father opened his eyes, staring right into hers. “What have I done?” he murmured. One hand still stretched over the boy, he reached out with the other to touch her forehead. The Daughter’s eyes rolled back into her head. Her body slumped over next to the boy’s.

 

* * *

 

The nights changed with the Son’s presence. Every living thing went to sleep, curled tightly into itself, and their life forces rose up in their place, ghostly blue in the dark. And every night, the sky stormed brilliantly. The monastery was above the clouds, but the Daughter felt drawn to the lightning, and would often travel down the mountains into one of her fields, letting her fingers pass through a tree’s spirit, letting the rain flash down on her.

Sometimes, the Son joined her, and they would stand and watch the sky in silence. Sometimes, he was there, but they both pretended he wasn’t. She could feel his eyes, bright red, on her back from the shadows where he stood.

Her favourite part by far was the lightning. They were so frequent, and so close, she was sure she would be struck, but she never was. Instead, it crackled past her, a negligible amount of space from her fingers, her arm, her face. The way her hair moved and her skin tingled after a lightning strike made her laugh. His eyes never left her, not for an instant.

 

* * *

 

The Son’s grin was a cruel one, a grin shaped by power. It did not impress her. “We are immortal?” he asked.

“Yes, but listen closely my son. Immortal does not mean indestructible.” The Father took an abrupt turn off their path, into a hole in the mountainside she had never noticed before. They traversed the tunnel down, down until they reached a cavern, lit with green fire. An altar rose in the middle of the cavern. The Father stopped at the end of the stairs, leaving the gaping space between them and the green-lit altar.

“Take heed, my children. We can be weakened, and we can be killed, but only by one thing. The blade that rests here is the only thing that can pierce your bodies.” The Father half turned to face them. “Neither of you may reach it. I have blocked you from going any further.”

The Daughter sensed a flash of anger from the Son, gone as quick as it came. She looked to him, but his face was smooth, unemotional.

_This is good,_ she thought. _It has to be. There has to be a limit._ She wasn't sure if he heard her, or perhaps ignored her.

 

* * *

 

It took some time after what happened, but eventually the Daughter felt comfortable enough to go out into the storms again. He came and joined her as the rain poured down on them. Neither of them said anything; despite herself, she still felt prickly towards him, the tiniest bit nervous and a little angry. She wasn’t sure why he wasn’t saying anything.

“The storm’s are quite strong now,” she said finally.

“They’re indicative things,” was all he said in reply. He took a step closer to her, then another, moving slowly. She stayed still, watching silently until he was right before her, close enough to sense without her trying.

His hand reached up slowly towards her arm. She watched, and contemplated. There was nothing she wanted less in this moment than his hands on her; there was nothing she wanted more. He made her sick, and she loved him. She would always love him. He was her brother.

His fingers brushed gently against her arm. She moved it away. His hand froze, his eyebrows furrowed, his mind asked, _Sister?_

“Just because I forgive you doesn't mean I like what happened. It doesn't mean I love what you do, who you are.” Her eyes widened. She shouldn't have said that much, and not like that.

Her brother’s face went dark, unreadable. His hand dropped to his side. “Of course,” he said, and turned away.

 

* * *

 

He was humiliated; she could feel it. They were both on their knees, an arena of space and their Father between them.

“Balance,” the Father intoned. “It is imperative. We all have a place in the world, and we must fulfill our responsibilities. We are the ones who guard the power.”

The Son grunted in pain. The Father wasn't letting them up yet, but he kept trying to get up anyway.

“We are the beginning, the middle, and the end,” the Father went on, ignoring the Son’s struggles. “Day with night. Destruction with creation. Our natures with practiced moderation. This is the will of the Force.”

_Enough, old man._ The Daughter stifled a gasp. That wasn't her thought. She sent the thought of _enough_ right back to her brother, a reprimand and a hope that the Father did not sense them.

After the Father finished, he let go of his hold on them. The Daughter stood slowly, looking across to meet her brother’s eye. He looked away, angry, and left without a word to either of them. The Daughter felt desolate; she left without speaking to the Father either, and spent the rest of the day rearranging a forest.

 

* * *

 

Before the Son, the Father’s eyes were white and blue. Before the Son, the Daughter’s ears were not so sensitive so as to require coverings. Before the Son, there was a boy, with a grooved face, and covered ears, and eyes that grew redder and redder with each passing day.

 

* * *

 

 “Are you ready?” she asked her brother.

“For what?” He was trying to be cavalier, refusing to look up from his book.

“To go somewhere I guarantee you’ve never been before.”

He scoffed. “Sister, _I_ guarantee there are places on Mortis you could never dream of visiting.”

Her skin crawled at his words; he must mean the Well of the Dark Side. She ignored her rising ire, shook it off to be present _here_ , for this.

“Brother,” she said firmly, then waited till he looked up at her. “Come with me. I promise, this is beyond...everything else this world has to offer. Beyond us, beyond Father.” She held out a hand. A beat, then he took it.

The easiest place to do this would be out of the arena, but after what happened there before, she thought it best to leave it be.

Out on the front steps of the monastery, she let go of her brother's hand. “If the Father can do this, I know not of it,” she said. “It is something I discovered on my own and he has merely encouraged, not taught or participated in.”

The Son’s eyes narrowed in interest. _What about me?_ was his unasked question.

_My hopes are high,_ she thought. “Dig deep down into yourself. Find your centre of gravity,” she said, reaching towards her own, “And _twist_.”

The Daughter began to fall forward on her knees, but before they could hit the ground, they were gone, shifted into the crooked knob of a griffin’s hind leg. She landed on her claws, threw back her head, and shook out her wings.

The Son, for once, was unabashedly speechless and shocked. His eyes kept moving up and down her body, completely foreign to him. She stretched her wings to their fullest reach, flapping them twice at him.

_Brother. Join me._

The Son’s head lifted to meet her eyes. After a few seconds, he smiled, teeth showing. A few seconds longer, then he burst into leathery shadow.

 

* * *

 

At first, the Daughter was angry. At the Son, at herself, at the Force and what it had made them. That anger faded with time. It was what happened later that surprised her. Later, she grew angry with the Father.

She was affected by what happened: she was not herself, quite literally _dimmed_ , for a substantial amount of time. The Father was angry with the Son, and his anger lasted much longer than any ill effects on her did. The Daughter didn’t understand how the Father couldn’t see the situation from his children’s point of view. It marked the first and only time she became upset with the Father.

Once her own anger had faded, she simply regretted going to the East, not for her own sake, but for her brother’s. She could not fault his nature, could not blame him for how he reacted when taken by surprise. How could the Father?

 

* * *

 

 The Daughter was meditating alone among her trees when the Son reached out. She accepted the link, like she would take his hand if he were here physically, and let his thoughts join her.

The Father was giving him a lecture, and he was _bored._ The Daughter nearly laughed; no matter what happened, she could always depend on her family to be exactly the same in the end.

The Daughter continued to meditate with half a mind, giving the rest of herself to her brother’s mind, not talking, but keeping company as the Father continued on.

“And you _must_ be careful with your sister. Be more mindful of your actions. You need her, as she needs you.”

_I already know that,_ the Son thought. _More than you know._ The Daughter wasn't sure if he even remembered just how present she was just then. She didn't want to alarm him, or make him angry, so she sent him a single thought that encompassed all she felt: a warm, reaffirming agreement, a soft thank you, a quiet expression of love.

The Son closed his eyes on their Father to take it all in, examine each part, and reciprocate the feelings. The Daughter sat alone and smiled.

 

* * *

 

 She was barely one step into the monastery when she realized he wasn't there. “Father, where is the Son?”

The Father opened his eyes, looking up at her from where he sat. “As much as I appreciate your presence here each day, Daughter, meditating with me is not a mandatory activity.”

The Daughter looked behind her, out of the monastery into the distance. She sent out a soft nudge, a quiet question. She received no reply.

After meditating with the Father, she left, heading east of the monastery instead of west. Was she worried about her brother? She knew very well he had to be fine—they were always fine. Maybe it was simply because the daily rhythm that she had grown used to had been disrupted. Maybe she just wanted to see him.

She wandered the East, finding it barren and empty of almost any life. It made her sad that this was what her brother created, but then again, was she to expect anything else from the keeper of the Dark side? It wasn’t his fault.

The Daughter cast out tendrils of the Force as she went, searching for a life signature stronger than that of a withered tree. Her search took her to a rocky valley with jagged walls. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel his presence here, somewhere nearby.

She smiled; she was eager to see him.

 

* * *

 

 Lightning, striking head on, was not a crackle, not a tingling felt in her fingers. It felt like a physical blow to the chest, it felt like her body locking up, it felt like being unable to breathe.

The lightning was red, and came from her brother’s outstretched hands. He didn’t mean for this to happen, she could sense that. His eyes didn’t leave her, not for an instant, as his hands dropped and he ran towards her. She fell into the blackness before he reached her.

 

* * *

 

 The Father, one day, revealed to them that even immortality had its limits. “It is not something you have to worry about, my children. I have existed much longer than both of you, even combined. I just want you to know that eventually, one day, I must be replaced in my work. The balance must be maintained.”

The Daughter thought of little else for days, preemptive sadness for her Father eating up one day, the thought of a new presence taking up another, and so on.

Clearly, she wasn't the only one who kept the revelation in mind. The Son came to find her one morning, lifting her from where she sat. He hugged her, and she relished in the contact, the comfort. When he pulled back, they didn't let go of each other.

“I know there is sorrow in this, sister, but there is happiness also, is there not?”

“What do you mean?”

“One day, it could be just you and me. We could keep Mortis together, the two of us.”

“That's not how it works.” Her hands rested on his chest. She couldn't bring herself to move them.

“Why not? There are two sides to the Force; we _are_ those two sides. The Force needs balance—” He slid his hands from her shoulders down to her elbows. “Why aren't we enough?

She studied his face for a long few seconds. He was honestly asking. Her hands tightened their grip. “Because,” she whispered, “I don't trust us.”

 

* * *

 

The East of Mortis became empty and grew spires that rose high into the sky. None reached as tall as the Father’s monastery on the mountain: they should not want to surpass the one who gave them life, and the Son knew this.

It stormed there at night same as it did everywhere else. She still preferred to go out amongst the spirits of her flora, but now and again, she would cross the plains to her brother’s rocky ground.

The lightning strikes grazed her on descent, same as always. She loved it just as much.

His red eyes still watched her from some place she could not see. She loved it just the same.


End file.
